Sunday, December 6, 2015

A Ghost of You

He is everywhere.

He’s in the imperfections of the paint on my condo walls, and my freshly enameled doors. He’s in my beautifully remodeled master bathroom—in the tile he put up, the new baseboard he installed, the shower head he got me for Christmas, and the bathtub he paid to have installed. He’s on the shelf he fixed in the living room, and the TV that’s mounted on the wall. He’s hanging up my wall decor in my living room. His fish is swimming in the tank he bought for me. He’s in the bedroom we were supposed to share, and barely squeezing his things into that closet with all my stuff. His vacuum cleans this house. His router gives me wi-fi. I think of him when my water drains quickly down my bathroom sink instead of clogging. He’s in my car telling me how dirty it is. He’s here on my laptop, which he got me a discount on, and my FitBit too. He’s in my water that comes from the fridge he replaced.

He is everywhere.

This condo was his. It’s a product of him. And though it’s full of three women now, I feel alone. I feel empty. I feel his ghost, and the ghosts of the family we were supposed to start here. In our home.